


Tinkerbelle

by RedHandedJill (FallenFurther)



Category: Original Work, Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan (1953), Peter Pan (2003), Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Defiance, Freedom, Gangs, Gen, Getting out, Peter Pan References, Police Procedural, Witness Protection, moles, new start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22485172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenFurther/pseuds/RedHandedJill
Summary: This was written for the yearly Writing Competition on a forum for the game Age of Kings. It came second the 2013 Writing competition.Having become a fanfic writer and posting my work here, I thought about my previous stories.This story was inspired by my love of Peter Pan and by the username I had on the site, RedHandedJill, which is what I normally go by.Without realising it this was my first fanfic, and I hope people enjoy it.Tinker and Techie want out of the Gang, and they put their lives on the line to make it happen.





	1. Flying

Christina turned as she got to the roof. Her heart was racing and her body ached, but her legs still moved like there was no tomorrow. She could hear the clanging of their feet on the metal stairs, though she knew they would never catch her. She was too far ahead. Chrissie could feel each step on the gritty roof; feel the pressure of each impact. She pushed harder and harder till her left foot hit the ledge and she threw herself into the air.

Time slowed. Her right leg moved through the air to continue the run, though there was no way it could reach the ground. Her arms moved to help propel her forward but the action was futile. The past few years flashed through her mind and she smiled. She fixed her eyes on the ground below. It felt like she was flying. Her heart filled with warmth and calm and she closed her eyes. She wished she could experience this forever.


	2. Detective Lawrence Flawn

I placed my head in my hand as I read over the little evidence we had on the Sunil Saints. I once thought the more technology we had, and the more advanced the technology, the harder it would be for people to abuse it. I thought one day the police force would get a day off. I was wrong. Even the stricter laws didn’t put people off. For every great invention there was someone who wanted to find a way to use it for evil. The old gangs seemed to start dying off, but they just moved underground. Their tactics became even less open and their schemes more devious. The Sunil Saints are one of these. Everything we have on them would be seen as rumours or just circumstantial in court. No one in the gang was slipping up, no one would talk, and nothing would stick. Dead ends just kept popping up. 

I looked down at the handheld. The images of two undercover operatives stared back. They were the pictures taken when they first entered the force. Young, fresh and willing. My heart sank. They had been tasked to infiltrate the Sunil Saints. A sigh passed my lips. It hurt to remember the interviews I had with them, the progress reports they shared and the look in their eyes at the end. I was the first from our department to see them. Their lifeless bodies had swayed in the breeze. The pair had been executed on a hill with the city lights in the distance. The lab guys couldn’t even trace down the gun that shot them. In an age where gun ownership was the governments business, it was shocking. 

I automatically checked my gun was in its holster. I slipped it out. The screen on the side told me the owners name and the model. A push of a few buttons would tell me the clip was full and I had changed it yesterday. I placed my finger on the trigger and thought of how many times I had pulled it. Too many. The gun was pointing at the portable computer on my wrist. With my fingerprint alone I could bring up the history of my gun; even the exact time of every shot was logged on the main computer. Murder was getting harder, but it was still happening. I returned my gun to its place on my hip and looked back at the handheld. My eyes focused upon a name, Markus Myron. He was the man at the core, the boss of the Saints and completely untouchable. 

A sharp knock broke my chain of thought and I looked up to see one of my deputies peering into the room. 

“Umm, Boss. You need to see this.”

I looked at him and sighed. Pushing myself out the chair, I followed him out of my office. I hoped this was not another prank.

“What’s this all about?” I asked.

Detective McLain turned to face me as he led me to the main room. His faced showed an uneasy smile that reassured me this was not another prank. He shrugged. 

“I didn’t want to take it any further without you. I don’t know what I’m dealing with.”

There was a small crowd around McLain’s desk. As I approached, they looked up expectantly, the thirst to find out more written on their faces. His screen was on and the holo-board was still projecting the virtual keyboard, ready for McLain’s return. My team parted to let McLain take his seat and he gestured at his screen with his hand. He waited for me to read it. I thought he was playing a joke; it was just a normal word document. There seemed to be nothing special about it, until I noticed the words at the top were strange, and in italics. I read the document.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
_Dear Detective McLain, please respond to this by typing below your response. Once your response is complete, save the document and close it. You will know that I have responded when the number in the title has changed._

Is this some sort of prank?

_No, this is no prank._

Who is this? What do you want?

_I cannot tell you who I am, but I want to help you. That is if you want my help._

How are you doing this? 

_I have illegally hacked into your system and created a secure network that has no trace on either your or my computer. It is possible to track this conversation but only a great hacker would be able to track us from it. You did not answer my question. Do you want my help? I do not want to waste my time._  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I read it again and checked the name of the document. It was called McLain4. I didn’t know what to think. It seemed real, but I hadn’t seen the number change. Was this a genuine hacker? Why would they tell us straight out like that? They had admitted their guilt. 

“What do we do then boss?” 

McLain looked at me, his hand posed to type on the holo-board. I didn’t have to look around to know that all eyes were on me. No one wanted the responsibility of starting something with a criminal. I lent on the table behind me and looked at the screen. These guys seemed to believe this was real, so I decided to play along, at least then I would see it with my own eyes. 

“Reply; what do you want to help us with? Let’s see what his demands are first” 

All eyes were fixed on McLain as he typed out the question, saved and closed the document. No one said a thing. With the document closed I noticed there was a small word icon in the top right-hand corner of the screen, opposite to all the regular shortcuts. It was aptly named McLain4. How long had it been there? I thought it was a novel place to put it, just out of view where no one would notice at a glance, but where someone used to the personalised interface would notice quickly. As I watched, the 4 became a 5. Everyone leaned in closer as McLain tapped the document with his finger. 

_I want to help you with the Saints case. I have read the files you have on it. They are very interesting yet very sparse. I want to help you take them down._

There were a few gasps among the seven staff members who had read the last statement. Police records were meant to be just as secure as medical records. The system was designed to be hack proof, yet this man had accessed our case history. That file extended back seven years and included many rumours and incidents known to be of the Saints doing. It also mentioned the gang’s last rival, the Stankners Vice. There were a few Stankners Vice members left, but they had scattered and were only minor members. Could this guy be one of them? I very much wanted to take the Saints down, but was this the right way?

“Ask him why. Why do you want to help us? What is in it for you?”

The reply we got was a surprising. 

_I will answer that tomorrow. Have an interview room free at 15:00. You may want a scribe or two. The interview is not to be recorded in any other way. You will have one hour._


	3. Henry Wright

I sat in the interview room and smiled. All my requirements had been met; it was nice to see the cops taking things seriously. Detective McLain sat down in front of me, back straight and in his neatest suit. He didn’t even try to hide the earpiece. He was not going to be the one asking the questions. This was going to be a proper questioning. I lent forwards and stretched my fingers. They were slightly stiff, but they still yearned for their holo-board. He started the interview dead on three o’clock.

“Who are you?”

“They call me Techie. That’s all you’re getting about me. There’s no need to know more.”

“Okay, Techie. Why are you here? What do you want from us? We know you want something in payment of what you know about the Sunil Saints, no one would give them up for free.”

I smirked at the distain and mistrust they had for me. They weren’t bad people, just slow and stuck in the bureaucracy of the system, the imperfect system for a perfect world. 

“You’re right about the wanting something. I want out. I want out of the gang. Yes, that’s right. I’m a Saint, and although I’m not the highest in the group, I have access to pretty much everything. Remember I’m a hacker.”

I wiggled my fingers for effect. I arched my slouched back before I continued. 

“This is the deal. My friend Tinker and I want out. Honestly, I’m here for Tinker. She wants to do something more than the gang can offer. She doesn’t want to be their run around anymore. Both of us are underpaid, underappreciated and going nowhere. Even my line of work, from the Saints perspective anyway, is boring. So, we want to give you the evidence you need to put a case up against the Saints. It’ll all be legal, we promise, so you can use it all in the courts. And then, when you make the big bust, instead of arresting us like you would the others, you get us into honest jobs. We’ll be model citizens.”

I watched McLain absorb this and listen to the guy in his ear. He had grown up in the four and a half years he’d been part of the team. He had more grey hair now than he did on his ID, though it was only a speckling. I clasped and unclasped my hands in the silence, finding it awkward. Normally the presence of an interface would entertain me in these moments. I could check a few systems, a few files, just to see if there had been any changes. I like being able to have the world at my fingertips. McLain took a little while to register what he was hearing before he relayed it back.

“How can we trust you?”

“How can I totally trust you? How will I know that you’ll keep our agreement?”

Another awkward pause. I put my hands under the table and tapped my leg to ease the wait. McLain placed his head in his hands and tapped his head as he waited for the decision to be made. He looked relieved when they finally included him. 

“We have considered your conditions. If you can help us bring about the downfall of the Sunil Saints, we will drop any charges that are to be put against you in relation to your gang duties. We will do the same for your friend Tinker, if there is enough evidence to show that she helped with the investigation.”

“Don’t worry about that. The next time you see me will be when you arrest me during the takedown. I’m a hacker and live in the basement. I don’t get out much. Tinker, however, is constantly running about this city. She will occasionally drop things off here or will set up the scenarios where useful information has been _accidently_ left behind by a member and that sort of thing. Now my hour is up, and I must get back to avoid any suspicion. Good luck with the investigation.”

I checked my watch 15:57: they still had three minutes, but I had nothing left to say. They had accepted the offer, and it was time to get the wheels turning. I walked out the interview room and out the building’s side entrance. I smiled as I saw a cab pull up outside the coffee shop. I ran to it, and clambered in. There was a pause before it turned into the road. I settled myself into the back seat.

“How did it go?” Her voice was so calm and casual, even though her future depended on the outcome. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I heard the gentle tapping of nails as she steered the car homeward.

“They accepted.”


	4. Detective Lawrence Flawn

“McLain, have you finished your report on the Mattani bust? The courts are on my back about this, they want to prosecute quickly. These people still have friends out there who could bust them out if we aren’t careful. Same for you Daniels, get it finished.”

I was perched on the desk in the task room, the most current file in my hands. I had been flicking through as we discussed the evidence we now had building up on the Wright family. It had been six months since the interview of Techie and now the tension in the Saints was high. They were falling back with every raid and bust. The force was looking stronger and more motivated; our unit seemed to be getting better at seeing the trends, following leads where there used to be dead ends. McLain and Daniels had just walked into the room from lunch, a smile stayed on McLain’s face, even after a telling off. He sat at his desk and I decided to put the pressure on him. I stood over him as he tapped the projected buttons in front of him. 

“I’ll finish it tonight boss, no problem. Though we might just have some more for the Wright family file, and if the preliminary scan is right, we might have something on Markus Myron himself.”

The excitement in his voice was obvious. A lead on the Myron family would exceed all that we had gained so far. Every leak, every scrap of evidence we had received in the past months had been on the surrounding families. Sure, we had taken down the second strongest, but the Myrons' still had their hands clean. Nothing had yet been pinned on them. 

“So, McLain, what has seemingly popped up this time?” 

The man silently tapped away. I could see he was searching through the database of the local police station. He went down to their lost and found open cases. He opened one of yesterday’s files and turned to me.

“Yesterday morning, at about 0930 hours, an elderly citizen found a data chip on the 34 bus route. She then handed this chip to her daughter who handed it into the station at 1346 hours that same day. Normally nothing would have been thought of it, until an officer tried to access the data. He realised it was encrypted so it was sent to our building for the analysts of level 2 to crack. I have an old school buddy down there and I bumped into him at lunch. He says the code is a shocker to crack but they’ve decoded one section, as well as the odd less secure document here and there. It’s the financials for the Wright family, and there is mention of a transaction between a company and the Myron family that needs authorising. There’s a small but strongly encrypted file that they are working on right now. They think that might be one of the Myron’s financial documents. I would bet that the 34 route is the route Myron’s accountant takes to work.”

I couldn’t believe it. The simple ‘mistake’ of leaving a data chip on public transport could be the start of the Myron family takedown. I know that this could easily be an accident, but with an informant who could hack even the police system, there will always be a little doubt about its accidental nature. It was clever, and effective. Someone was bound to hand the chip in, or maybe make the contents public. And the person who handed it in was completely unrelated to the gang. There was no evidence of any informant. I patted McLain on the shoulder.

“Good work.”

McLain slid an evidence bag out of his pocket and placed it on the table. Inside was a napkin which had something scrawled on it. The handwriting was bad but legible. There were two sets of six digits one above the other. In the bottom corner the name ‘Tinker’ could just be made out. I pondered the numbers. McLain and I both knew a napkin would mean little in court. We were going to have to build evidence around it.

“Looks like coordinates. Find the place and research it. Be prepared for anything but do not go there. It could be a trap. Find out what is there and what the Saints use it for. Then we’ll look into getting a warrant.”

I walked away having assigned McLain to the task. He had become a much better detective in the past months, though I felt uneasy about the task I’d set him. I did not like evidence in this form. It was too risky, too easily made up. It could easily be written by a gang member as a test for the police. If they were cottoning on to the presence of an informant, then this could confirm their suspicions. I guess I will always mistrust. People say I’m too cautious, too old-style.


	5. Henry Wright

Tinker swung into my den. She smiled at me, but I could tell her heart was troubled. She plonked herself down on the only other plastic chair and threw her rucksack on the floor, ripping open the zip in the process. I continued my work until she had finished piling the plastic tubs of food next to my antique keyboard.

“My sorry you have to live down here. It’s so small and pokey. And hot.”

I watched as she slipped her jacket off, revealing her packed tool belt. She slipped a screwdriver out and twisted it around. I could see the frustration in her eyes as she stared at the tool. I left her to it. I flicked onto the police network, opening the most recent of the case files. I winced. The last one I had opened was the Wright case files. Staring back at me were the names of my cousins. My brother’s name was on there too. Guilt gripped my heart as I saw what he was being convicted on; there was little I could do for him now. He shouldn’t have abandoned me when our parents died. 

“It looks like they have enough evidence to take out Stan, Marshall and the Garrisons. We just have to give them your parent’s finances, the loose change fund and some more evidence of foul play. I was thinking a drug raid or shipment on known gang property, as they have a fair bit of proof for the blackmail side. Oh, and we need to hand them your father on a platter. We need to catch him in gang activities.”

I turned to look at Tinker, expecting her to put the pieces together. My heart sank as I saw what appeared to be a robotic feline head in her hand. Her screwdriver was working on the mechanism inside the battered metal. 

“Seriously Tinker! You used to love that thing. Stop breaking it. It won’t get any better it you keep destroying it.”

Her brown eyes met mine. 

“He’s not my cat. My cat died. This is just a piece of metal. It has no feelings, no memories, and no soul. It’s broken, so I break it. I break it so I can fix it. It helps my mind work.”

She fetched the body out the bag of bits and started fixing it together. Tinker was deliberately letting the silence sit. I just watched. I needed her to calm down.

“Plant the loose change information on Marshall’s laptop. You and I know he always forgets it, and that its details are written in the apartment somewhere, but there is no certainty the cops will find them when they search his house. All you need to do is have a note on the computer, hidden in plain sight, which has the account number, sort code, expiry date and all that old stuff written within it. The police are bound to investigate the account when they search his computer for evidence. As for my parents, just reduce the encryption on their financial documents, so the police can hack them. I know you can do that. My father has been ever so worried about money recently and I know he’s keeping extra stringent tabs on it. That should be his downfall. His secret hard drive has spent the past week plugged in.” 

She was still fiddling with the body of the mechanical cat. She twisted it once over before dropping it into the bag with a sigh. Flipping the screwdriver into the air, she caught it in a fist. She looked at me with the sharp end pointing in the direction of my computer. If she had wanted to, Tinker could have plunged it into my neck with one quick extension of her arm, but I knew she would never do that. She looked up and smiled at me. 

“I can see the end. The last details will be found upon the final battle. In less than two months time there will be a delivery of weapons to the old fire station. My father will be there himself to examine the quality and value. He’ll have the rest of the gang there, except for you. If all goes well, hand yourself in to McLain. They should treat you well. We’ll drop hints about the place and delivery to the police. They will come in hard if they get wind of the big boss being there. If the raid works, all the financial information will be retrieved on the search of the houses of those arrested.”

Tinker gave me a crooked grin. I was impressed at how she had got the information out of her family, and how she had it all planned. If she hadn’t proved herself correct on previous occasions, I would never have believed it would work. I smiled back at her and I got up and put the food in my fridge. I was truly thankful for Tinker making it and bring it down. Since the arrests on the gang, Mr Myron had me under strict orders not to leave the building. We both know he has his suspicions about me. Other gang members bring down ready meals for me, if they remember, but I generally get forgotten. I looked at my screen and a red alert box caught my eye. I clicked on it and it showed me the CCTV outside the building. A shiny silver car had parked in the courtyard and I watched the driver pull a wheelchair out of the trunk. Tinker had gone stiff.

“I need to go. I can’t let them find out about us; it’ll blow the whole thing.” 

She grabbed her bag and ran for the stairs. They lead to a secret doorway in a storeroom. Only those who needed to know about it did. That meant Tinker shouldn’t. She was just ascending when I called her. 

“Wait! What about the email with the pictures we discussed last week? Who should I send them from? What should I sign it with?”

I heard Tinker pause on the steps. 

“It doesn’t matter. They know it’ll be from us, so pick anyone. Send it from my email if you want a laugh.”

With that she ran up the stairs. I flipped back to the monitor and brought up the camera that covered the workshop. Tinker scooted onto the screen on her skateboard. I watched her quickly slip beneath Stan’s broken car. She stayed there till her parents came into the room. I watched as the conversation between father and daughter got increasingly heated. I saw Carla Myron look down at the fancy dress she had on her lap. I knew it would look amazing on Tinker, even if she hated it. The sad thing is I know she likes dressing up. She just hates being her father’s doll, his puppet. I noted down the time on the video and flipped to my favourite software before I could watch Markus use his wife to keep Tinker in line. He had always used her mother to control Tinker, but his abuse towards his wife had increased after the accident. He blamed Tinker for his own mistake. 

I nimbly hacked into Tinker’s personal email account. I didn’t have a permanent window into it so my friend could have her privacy. I attached the pictures to a new email and copied in the message we had previously agreed on. I signed it with the name 'Tinkerbelle', because it would make her smile.


	6. Detective Lawrence Flawn

Markus Myron had been arrested. His wife, his son Harston and other members had also been taken into custody. Among the last few left who managed to run were Christina and Stuart Myron. Extra forces had been brought in to help and SWAT had gone in first. I was to be part of the search team. There was no certainty that the suspects had left the building, but there were enough personal to allow for both internal and external searches. 

I was thankful to be kept with my own team, with McLain as my deputy for the search. We were to search the area to the east of the building. We set off, guns in hand. As a team of six we decided to split into two groups to cover the two parallel roads. I led one group and McLain led the other. Over our ear buds we could hear updates from the fire station, as well as the odd clear from the other group. It was through this channel it was announced that Stuart had been apprehended. Smiles and triumphant nods were shared amongst the group. As we searched what looked to be another empty back road to a factory a voice rang in my ear. 

“All search parties, the suspect Christina Myron is considered armed and hostile. The suspect was last seen wearing a white shirt and black trousers. I repeat, the suspect Christina Myron is considered armed and hostile, proceed with caution.”

We moved back to the main streets and continued looking for possible suspects, though now the thought of catching Christina Myron was at the front on my mind. The next street was empty. Christina was the only child to not be knee deep in the family business, but she would be the most likely to crack. The pampered girls often were, and Christina was one on the most pampered girls in this city. She had never been seen twice with the same outfit on, she was always dressed up and she never seemed to have a blemish on her skin. I smiled at the thought of her running, she must hate it. I knew she probably needed to look smart for business’ sake, but her dressing in trousers must have been a strange sight for those around her. 

I looked down the next road. It was a small back route to some rough looking apartments. I was about to call clear when I saw movement along one shadowy wall. I focused hard on the figure and motioned down the street. The others followed my lead as I carefully tracked the figure, keeping the sound of my footfalls to a minimum. My gun was raised as the figure moved into daylight. The white shirt seemed almost blinding in contrast to the shadow. I could clearly see the figure was dressed according to the transmitted description. I felt my heart pound as the figure looked down the side road, confirming that she was female. We had found the last Myron. 

The apartment building was next to a fenced industrial building, which had a large tarmacked area around it. There was a road between the apartments and the fence, while straight on led down a small overgrown path. After a glance to her left, the woman started to walk down the path. We had managed to get within fifty metres of her when she stopped suddenly. At the other end of the path I recognised McLain’s spiky ginger hair. There was a brief second of eye contact between the two before she turned to run. I stepped forward and raised my gun.

“Police! Stay right there!”

I yelled, almost sensing the other two mirroring my stance behind me. McLain and the others were running up the path, also yelling, as Christina Myron looked me in the eye. She held the gaze like she knew me. I felt like she expected me to say something. Then her eyes seemed to drop. Could she be surrendering?

McLain was about to come out behind Christina when she bolted. It was so fast and unexpected that I delayed in pulling the trigger. The sound of shots rang, and my legs automatically started to move. I turned the corner onto the street Christina had originally rejected. It was a dead end. I stopped and gave cover as McLain took the lead. Christina’s shoulder was red with blood; one of the shots must have hit her. That’s when I noticed the fire escape; the metal stairs that lead to the roof of the three-story block of flats. There was nowhere else for her to go. Knowing that the roof was her only option for escape, I turned back the way we had come and started to run around the building. As I turned the corner, I hear the sound of feet on metal. 

The other side was a narrow road. I looked up still running, trying to see where she would go. Then I saw her. She had jumped off the edge, right above my head. She almost made it to the other roof. As her body slammed hard into the wall of the building, I watched her try to keep her weight on the ledge. It was her wounded shoulder that failed her, and I watched her slip. She fell like a rag doll into the dumpster below. She had given up. 

I ran over to the dumpster, and with help, managed to get her out and lying on her front. Cuffs were quickly put on her and I let the others read her rights. As she lay pinned, I reached down and checked her shoulder. It had bled a fair bit, but it looked fairly superficial, though she still needed medical attention as there was no telling what damage the fall had done. I was about to let the fabric cover the wound when I noticed a strange colouration to the right of it. I knelt closer. To my surprise, there was a fairy tattooed on the shoulder of this broken princess. I recognised it from the old Disney film Peter Pan, though this version seemed to have what looks like a spanner in its hand.


	7. Henry Wright

I’m not really looking forward to meeting the new addition to the team today. It feels like a lot of hassle. Though I guess it’s just a reflection of my mood. It’s almost six months since the raid and the Myron’s’ are only now starting to be tried. I guess it was all the evidence collecting. In the end there must have been a fair bit of computer stuff to sort through, various bank accounts to identify. I guess the trial is bringing back old memories. I tap my standard police-issue screen. My new name flashes up on it. Henry Barker. It was one of the only things I had been allowed to choose when the state had rewritten my entire life. Witness protection really does suck, but they kept their promise in the end. In part, at least. 

I put my head in my hands. I still can’t believe she’s gone. Tinker had worked so hard to get out, so hard to make sure enough evidence was provided for arrests. Even when more and more pressure was applied to her by her father, she never cracked. Only at the end did she stumble. She had fallen awkwardly and lost consciousness after her arrest. They had gotten her to hospital, but it was too late. She died a few days later. I wipe away a tear. There had been a funeral, though few went. Most who knew her were behind bars. 

Honestly, I am thankful for Detective Flawn. He has facilitated everything, and he seems to care. I know he has gotten a lot of recognition for the case, but he’s also helped me cope. He meets me every week to make sure I’m okay. For years Chrissie had been my one true friend, but now I live for her. It’s because of her I’m part of a new cyber-investigative team. I must admit, I enjoy testing my skills against other criminals. I understand my place here, and people have accepted me. I view the current case on my screen and can’t help but smile as a disposable coffee cup is placed on my desk. The morning routine has started. I look at Sarah and nod thanks while stretching my arms above me. The daily meeting is about to start. I sip my coffee, allowing it to warm my heart. I lean back as Sarah rests on my desk, just behind my screen. I look up to see Section Chief Zimmerman standing at the head of the room. 

“Well, let us start today on a good point before we get down to the grim details of the current case.” 

Chief Zimmerman’s moustache danced comically as he spoke. It’s one of the better things about the man with the slight pot belly. Zach Whilom gives me a nod and cheeky smile as he acknowledges the funny side of our chief. He’s such a joker, though it’s not uncommon for him to take it too far. He found that out the hard way when I changed his password for him. I smiled at the memory. 

“…I’d like to introduce the last member of this new team, Alexandra May.”

I look up to give the customary smile and nod, only to pause. The woman who steps forward was not what I had been expecting. Even in a black pencil skirt and frilly blouse the familiarity was there. The scruffy bob could not hide the fact that behind the chunky glasses are familiar eyes. She walks over to me and offers me her hand.

“Hi.”

She sounds nervous, but there is a small smile on her face. I take her hand and speak my new name. My hands visibly shake. She moves on. My heart is pounding. I am bewildered, but I understand. The promise has been kept.


End file.
